


Life.... Or Something Like it

by Lynn_StarDragon



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: And Failing Miserably, Character Study, Gen, Gender Queer and proud!, I love my Pyro though, I'm trying to be atypical here, Rainbows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:04:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2204706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynn_StarDragon/pseuds/Lynn_StarDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short drabble about one BLU Pyro musing over their life experiences and how things have changed since joining the Mercs. Also slight waxing philosophical on the concepts of Masculinity and Femininity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life.... Or Something Like it

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Vihtalaini.

Pyro had learned baking from her mother at an early age and reveled in every minute of it. It was a safe and 'acceptable' way for a lady to be near fire and heat and creation. It was also how she'd learned of her love and passion for living flames. The first time she'd burned herself on the stove had been an accident, nothing more than a light singe which healed all too quickly and with hardly any mark to be remembered by. It had been enough though, enough for her to realize that she wanted more, to feel that heated kiss along her skin on other places. She didn't want to paint herself up with powdered rouge and lipstick, she wanted the sear of the flame to mold her into a true work of art.

It was only once she'd left home that she was able to act on her desires, and only after countless college classes and apprenticeships with any craftsmen who would take her. Baking had led to cooking and sewing had led to jewelry making. Most jewelry involved metalwork of some kind and that had led to soldering and welding and working with stained glass held together with lead and that had led to glass blowing with painting and music in the mix somewhere to keep her parents from suspecting too much. Not all of her education had been within houses of learning.

A trip to a bar had taught her to be a fire-breather and by extension fire-eater. It had also reinforced her idea that the concepts of 'him' and 'her' were stagnant at best and she needed to live life to the fullest in the way she pleased and was capable of, ovaries be damned. She didn't flinch back from stray sparks and embers the way the other steelworkers did, earning her respect, and under the heat-proof suits her bosom was easily made inconsequential and unnoticeable and unable to influence her coworkers. She had learned how to live life from going out into the world, used the fires she loved to decorate her body and turn the blank canvas of her skin into a living work of art.

It was the closest she would ever get to having children, giving birth to herself. The double-edged gift of total freedom was bought with her crippled womb. With no greater expectations thrust upon her Pyro had been able to indulge in the science of combustion, the way a controlled burn could save a forest ringed town, how candle wax could reshape the planes of her chest and back. Life was good if a little... colorless, like a repetitive song.

Then she'd heard through the grapevine that a company was looking for those skilled in the art of fire-craft, either mundanely or magically. She had time and experience and needed a change in life along with an excuse to get further away from the family. They could keep their money and their lands, she was a self-suficiant artist and BLU afforded her the security and comfort she had been craving along with an outlet for her passions. They were less concerned about her gender than she was, for which she was thrilled. One less set of hoops to jump through as she chased her dreams.

But things came full circle, the irony of which was not lost on her, and as she had started so had she returned to baking. She wasn't the only cook on the team and the other men all appreciated her talents. What was under her mask was her own business, much like the Spies with their balaclavas. She was sure that even if they did find out about her 'gender' it wouldn't matter or change their opinions of her. She was as much a man as the rest of them, as good a killer and team-player as any of them. Helping to take care of them did sooth an old ache in her heart, but undermining their reality and skewing their view of existence brought about it own satisfaction. Some of the Scouts made it too easy.

One man, however, she tended to spare from her mind games. She had met him after her transfer to Teufort had been made permanent, and the age difference was a non-issue. Engineer might have been physically older but Pyro had years and years of life on him. He was a good southern boy--too _good_ a southern boy--with a head full of books and more graduate school debts than she could count. He could be gentle as a lamb one minute, all soft spoken and caring as he tried to talk two hotheads out of a scuffle, and he could be fierce as a grizzly the next, smiling like a wolf as his sentries cut down the enemy team. It made him easy to speak to, to speak with.

What had started as shop talk one day, about the melting point of different metals, had led to a discussion of the flammable properties of the elements on the periodic table. From there they had gone onto practical applications of minerals in machines, mostly in the form of diamond edged saws, and somehow things had spiraled down the rabbit-hole from there. They'd had their fair share of discussions about life and philosophy over the span of their careers, what it meant to be 'human' and the difference between a cross stitch, an open leaf stitch, a split stitch and what made some knots French. She was pleasantly surprised to find that he was a deft hand at cooking himself and not just grilling and marinating meats, though he did know his way around ribs.

Somehow they had moved on to cooking and baking from there. It hadn't exactly been a competition between them, more an exchanging of recipes and tips. A dash of sugar here, did you know chilly powder could enhance the flavor there, and a drop of vanilla extract and extra milk made for some deliciously moist brownies. They were little secrets that made all the difference when she baked a double-batch of cookies, coated them in rainbow sprinkles, and he could taste the cinnamon sweetness along with the pumpkin spice.

If she had given any moment credit for when she thought she wanted more than friendship from him, it had been then. His smile, his laugh, his easy going nature and willing acceptance all culminated into something so ruggedly handsome and utterly sensual in the way he bit down and sank his teeth into the biscuit. She had momentarily wondered if she would ever sink her teeth into him like that before putting the thought aside to mull over later when she wasn't likely to scare the tinkerer off. Small steps were necessary, if he fell too hard too fast he'd break his wings before ever learning to fly.

That was how they had gradually worked their way to where their friendship was now. He was the only one to know what was fully under her suit, and she only regretted not showing him sooner since he'd been the one to help her find comfortable off-duty attire that didn't chafe her skin. And he'd rigged up a pair of goggles, some hoses, and a personal oxygen tank full of water to act like a humidifier to keep her eyes moisturized when the days were extra dry and she couldn't wear the colored contacts. The cowl had been her own making to keep her head covered and maintain the mystery inherent to her class. It had been amusing to see the looks on the other mercenaries faces when she'd first walked out wearing the headgear, loose sweater and baggy sweat pants, all blue of course. She could have sworn there was a note of pride in Engie's smile at having a hand in their confusion.

From then on they had been thick as thieves. On the battlefield it became a common sight to find her Spy-checking around the dispensers more than was strictly necessary. They had each others' backs, though that could be true of all the members of their team operating as a dysfunctional family. That in itself had always seemed terribly amusing to her, that the rag-tag teams of hired killers she'd shuffled through had felt like more of a family to her than her own flesh and blood.

Yet as she stood poised by the oven with Scout leaning in from the doorway to check on how much longer they had to wait for dinner, Engie setting the table, promises from Demo to make a savory souffle to compliment the roasted chicken currently baking away, and the other BLUs likely anticipating her latest experimental recipe, (this idea courtesy of Spy, though you didn't hear that from either of them) she found that she wouldn't have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> I love my Pryo OC, and if this or she is wrong then we don't want to be right.
> 
> I just wish she had a name... or an ethnicity... or hair and eye color....
> 
> Reblog here on [tumblr.](http://journalforblu.tumblr.com/post/110537551657/life-or-something-like-it)


End file.
